


kill the bachelor

by Possette



Series: Possette's SongFics [2]
Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner RPF, The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Crazy Thomas, Depressed Everyone, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Multiple Suicides, Rejection, Sad Ending, Suicide, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:56:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29878716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Possette/pseuds/Possette
Summary: Remember how Alby and Ben died because of a Griever? How Chuck died to save Thomas from Gally's bullet? How Winston shot himself so he wouldn't fully turn into a Crank? How Newt died because of The Flare and Thomas's knife? How Teresa died because she was the last to get on the Berg? They all died in the movies because of different things, right?Not in this story. In this story, characters die because of Thomas and solely Thomas.---A fic inspired by one story line and two P!ATD songs "Let's Kill Tonight" and "Death Of A Bachelor".
Relationships: Minho/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Series: Possette's SongFics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2150625





	kill the bachelor

**Author's Note:**

> _Swooshes in and throws a crate of my sanity._  
>  Here, you might need this more than I do, shanks. This story might just make no shucking sense, so buckle up and proceed to witness Thomas creating a chain of doom.

He fucked up. He should have never trusted his feet the moment they landed on the floor. He thought he was just getting something to drink. But somehow, he's in Minho's house. In Minho's bedroom. At 2:39 AM. For no reason.

There was a reason. His subconscious gave a reason. 

He had kissed him in his sleep. Molested his lips. Stolen his first kiss.

_He felt sick to his stomach._

What has he done? 

He deserved that blow to his face. He deserved that kick to his stomach. He deserved all those shoves and hits that Minho gave to him. He deserved the grossed out stares, the horrible whispers, and the mocking laughter. He was a disgusting person. He deserved everything that everyone gave, said, and did to him. He was a faggot, a disgrace, a psycho, a desperate bitch, he was disgusting.

[...]

A loud ringing crash resonated in Minho's room. Thomas couldn't hear well. But he was certain that Minho was screaming at him to leave, to disappear, to die. There was blood all over his forehead, mouth and chin, but the physical pain wouldn't be able overpower the shame and emotional pain that was bubbling up inside him even if it tried to. The brunette simply knew the Asian was never going to talk to him again like he usually did.

His friendship with Minho and his gang was all he had. 

_And yet he decided to gamble it like he had some collateral to pay for the price._

The entire room was a mess. Sheets strewn all over the floor, broken glass shards shimmering so depressingly beautiful in Thomas's hair, papers scattered all around, moonlight dripping through the curtains. A magnificent mess, he must say.

Minho was standing in just his pyjamas by his closet door as if he was ready to take a gun out of it. 

The thought made Thomas laugh.

It was sickening to think. That your best friend would kiss you, even though he knew you weren't bent in any way. Everything was turning at such slowness and it made the boy dizzy. He could taste the bitter and strong flavour of copper; it was smeared all over his teeth and tongue.

“Get out! I said get out!” Minho tried to scream quietly as not to wake his roommates. But it was futile, Thomas could clearly hear doors creaking open in the hallway, now that the blaring screech in his ear was gone.

“I'm sorry Minho.”

“Dude just get out! What the fuck?!”

“I'm sorry.” And then Minho's bedroom door blew open. The brunette took a clumsy step back and tipped out the open window. His heel caught a rug hole and he falls backwards and out of the window. He could hear the alarmed shouts of his name, but none of those shouts belonged to the Asian himself.

Why the hell would he call for him anyway?

[...]

He was on the run.

More like on the limp. He wasn't going to get very far on his bruised stomach and pounding headache. It seemed like the entire universe was against him ever since his existence was born into this wicked world. His mother died during his birth, and his father abandoned him at an orphanage. The orphanage’s founder Ava Paige seemed to keep him only because he was smart. Orphanage’s headmaster Jansen hated the boy’s guts, obviously.

He was just a child that no one wanted.

Now that he couldn’t hear Siggy’s concerned shouts, Thomas slowed down to hobbling on his fine side. The moon was still shining peacefully and probably romantic for some couples who might be still awake. He was probably a few blocks away from his house, but what would he do when he would arrive? There was no one there who would be waiting at his doorstep. He could just go to the park and sit there until some drunken burglar would come up and rob him penniless.

And so he did. Thomas sat at the park that he and his not-his-friends-anymore friends Newt and Minho used to hang out at, blood still lingering at the tip of his tongue and at the bottom of his face.

There was rage coating his shame but he was too exhausted and heartbroken to even be angry. He was so busy trying to sort out his emotions, he didn’t notice a wasted man stumbling towards him. His mouth reeked of cheap beer when Thomas inhaled.

“Ya got any cash on you boy?” The man slurred as he moved in to take up Thomas’s personal space. Thomas nodded and stood up to take out his wallet, grabbing every dollar bill he could find. The man was quite pleased to receive two hundred dollars and released a belly laugh. 

“My my, that’s a lot you’ve got on ya. This could buy me a crate of beers.” He laughed again and a shadow cast over his eyes.

“Say. How ‘bout that fancy watch ya got there? Wanna give it to this old grandpa?” Thomas sighed and unclasped the silver watch that hugged his wrist nicely. There wasn’t any value to it anyway. Watching the man greedily take the watch and slip it into his back pocket, he swallowed. “Beautiful.”

“And that little amulet on ya neck. It looks like it’s got value, yeah?”

Thomas immediately felt his hand fly up to hold the pendant that hung right on his collarbone. It was given to him by Ava at the orphanage before it burnt down. He may have not liked the woman, but it was the only memory he had. He couldn’t just give it over.

Upon noticing his distress, the stranger cocked a brow and scowled lightly.

“Come on now, be a good sport and hand it over.” But Thomas refused. 

The man was becoming impatient and took it upon himself to snatch the pendant off the boy’s neck. He held it in the air and admired the way the pendant glittered alluringly under the dim post lights.

Thomas was panicking at this point. The scratchy feel of the worn-out string was what reassured him that some part of Ava’s kindness was still present within, and the weight of the jewel was what kept him weighed down from floating into the air. Not having it on his neck sent him into a static state of anxiety.

One moment the man was laughing merrily and walking away, the next he was being battered in the head with a metal bench leg, falling on his belly. The brunette didn’t know how he was able to rip the thing off, he just wanted the necklace back. The man wasn’t given a chance to plead nor shout as the metal connected to the back of his head with a strong impact, instantly blacking out.

Thomas continued to raise the leg up and bring it down repeatedly. 

The vibrations of cracking skull that wracked throughout the body of Thomas made him giddy in some eerie way as he hastened to an inhuman pace of butchering the unconscious man’s head. Squelching and muffled gurgling of sticky liquid filled the park. Red seared into his eyes and he blinked in an attempt to get rid of the blood, then he looked down at his art. 

It was breathtakingly gruesome.

You could see the fellow’s pulped brains and insides of his head. His eyes were ready to pop out of their sockets, and more blood flowed freely out of his slack jaw. It was practically possible to empty his skull’s contents right now. He took the dirty pendant out of the corpse’s limp hand and wiped the red liquid off its face with his bare wrist. His pants were bloodied, and so were his shoes and shirt. He was certain there was some on his cheek too.

After discarding the now useless bench leg he sat on the ground beside the mound of flesh, taking in the sight of teeth littering by. 

Thomas collected seven of them and formed a smiley face right next to the corpse’s hand that had just been holding his valuable necklace minutes ago. The teeth looked really pretty under the moonlight in all honesty. Huh, the guy must visit the dentist every six months. How cute.

Then he laughed. He laughed like those people put in an asylum. He was saner though, he was well-aware that he had wanted to get his hands dirty for a while. He finally got what he wanted. Of course he didn’t get Minho, but the boy was too precious to kill. Besides, Minho deserved better. He was loved _by all_. No one liked Thomas in the first place, so may the rest all be sent to hell.

But despite their hate for him, they somehow had the balls to tell him he doesn’t look the same. Maybe he lost weight, that’s all.

“Just because I’m the ordinary type doesn’t mean little shits like you get to treat me like some trash bag to spit in.” Thomas sneered at the dead body while poking at it with a shaky finger. 

He was thrumming from the immense excitement. His eyes kept raking over the carcass, admiring its deformed face and skull. He contentedly gazed at the body before his eyes landed on a bulge that was hooked under the man’s belt. Thomas let his hands wander over to it.

“Motherfucking beauty,” He mumbled as he pulled out a handgun from the body. Its barrel reflected the post light and the cylinder was fully loaded with six bullets. 

“A six shooter.” 

He whispered while he grazed the frame carefully. He stood up and waved the gun around with a wide smile, walking over the corpse’s legs clumsily. He howled as his own blood started rushing through his veins and he fell over a bush.

The gun went off.

It was a loud blast, echoing into the silence of the night, but then it became quiet and the muzzle smoked. Thomas could see the bullet penetrated into the body of a street light not more than a few metres away from where the boy stood. When he glanced over at the slaughter he created, the body was still indifferent, lying dead.

He hummed in a broken symphony as he skipped down the long road back to his little house where he would play with his new toy. He headed down to his basement and moved a switch, a small light bulb flickering on weakly. Another manic laughed followed after the boy emptied the cylinder and reloaded it multiple times.

He watches the sky fall through the very small window at the top of the wall.

Thomas lets out a sigh, and then closed his eyes as he blew out the last breath of weed.

“ _Kaboom_.”

[...]

Minho couldn't believe what he was seeing on TV. He feels that his heart is going to burst. He was crying on his knees on the floor, hands clenched around him as he took in the bloody photographs shown on the screen. Bloody photographs of two bodies; one he doesn't recognize, and other he recognizes.

_“...—suicide victim Thomas Isaacs, 20 years old and college graduate is suspected by crime experts that he, was the one who had murdered office worker Carl at the dead of night due to fingerprint evidence found on the assault weapon which is a metal bench leg found three metres away from the corpse.”_

Beside Minho, Newt swallows dryly and forces a gag down when a blurred picture of a body with a messily demolished head is brought up. The Asian boy just cries.

_“Detective Bianco assumes that Isaacs committed suicide after feeling remorse and shot himself in the head in the basement of his house.”_

Another picture is shown and all the people in the living room gasps in terror and secondhand pain.

It's Thomas, sitting on a very old chair at the back of his basement with said handgun in hand. The side of his head is exploded and three-fourth of his face gone, tissues and inner flesh spilling out, accompanied with floods of blood. His eyes are closed, and his lips are rested into a tired smile. And if you looked closely, you could traces see tears on his cheeks and lashes. He looked at peace.

Minho sobbed while he curled in Alby's lap, guttural breaths shaking him like an earthquake. Chuck only stared at his dead best friend. Ben held the sophomore's shoulder. Frypan pressed his face into his calloused hands. Winston fainted. Gally silently let out a sigh. The girls were wailing restlessly.

Everyone was in denial. But there he was. He was soulless, at peace, gone, dead. Thomas was no longer in their lives.

_“A rolled letter was found in Isaacs's shirt pocket, addressed to Minho Kim,”_ The mentioned boy looks up too see the reporter pointing at a footage that showed a sealed and rolled paper. _“and Newton Durnham.”_

The blonde looks up as well.

_“These two individuals are requested to approach Detective Bianco in his office to retrieve and open the letter. There may be contents that may lead to the cause of this sudden murder.”_

[...]

It's been three months since the incident. Newt and Minho took the letter home after they read it aloud to the detective. 

_  
Dear Minho and Newt,_

_I'm sorry for ruining our friendship. I'm afraid I have to leave the both of you to repent for what I have done, especially what I did to Minho and the poor man in the park. Take care of everyone for me, since I'm always the one making sure you get your equal parts of lunches that Frypan makes. And take care of yourselves. You both deserve to be happy. Thank you for being my friends._

_Goodbye guys._

_Thomas._

[...]

It’s surprising how fate played everyone out. 

Minho found himself longing for Thomas, and Newt realized that he couldn’t manage to keep meals on budget without Tommy. Chuck’s been failing maths lately now that there was no expert like Thomas to help. Alby’s and Ben’s relationship’s been on thin ice lately without Thomas’s hilarious but helpful love advice; the boy was a romance novel nerd after all. Frypan kept overcooking his soups to the point they would become bland or evaporate now that walking clock Thomas was gone. 

Aris became mute after he got jabbed in the trachea by Minho in a scuffle, which of course went ignored by Newt, the motherly nature in him now gone. Winston almost cut his finger off whilst chopping up carrots because he forgot that Thomas was no longer present and looked up to call him when he sliced his finger. 

Teresa couldn’t think logically like she used to anymore. Brenda lost her arm while she was driving and got into a car crash because there was no more Thomas to reprimand her reckless driving. Harriet and Sonya began visiting Thomas’s grave because no one wanted to. And Gally hates to admit but, he misses the slinthead’s playfulness. 

Yeah, Newt’s the glue, but Thomas is the base that holds the parts together in order for the glue to dry and attach the parts properly.

It basically meant the entire gang was falling apart without the brunette.

But there was nothing they could do. Minho and Newt didn’t know what to do either, even though they were the ones who always had a solution for everything. But then again, it was always Thomas who created risky yet manageable choices. They could only survive on the last memories that Thomas had left for each of them before they would eventually change ways. 

_Cold hearts brew colder songs_ ; they had to learn that the hard way.

[...]

_Seems like the devil liked to collect the beautiful flowers too._ Minho thought bitterly as he watched a coroner lower Newt’s lifeless body down from the rope that was tied from the living room’s chandelier. A lady covered the body with a white sheet. 

“This is the sixth one this year, and it’s only been six months since January. What the hell are these youngsters after, dying in the most inconvenient ways possible?” The black haired male could read the lady’s lips easily.

It’s true. It’s the sixth member who’s died this year in the neighbourhood. Thomas was the first one. Ben was the second to go, after Alby broke up with him. He downed an entire bottle of rat poison. Alby soon followed with a similar method once having enough of too much pain. Then Chuck; he was found by a friend after the ringing blast of a gun went off. He shot himself in the chest with the same gun that Thomas had used.

How he managed to steal it from the police? No one knew.

Gally had tried to poison himself too, but Minho punched him in the face and dragged him to the hospital.

Winston had wasted no time drowning himself in Minho’s own bathtub. He had surrounded himself with Thomas’s favourite body soap, white chrysanthemum and orchid petals arranged at the foot of the tub. _Goodbye and I’m sorry_.

Newt died today. Minho just sat in his attic’s balcony drowning in whiskey and beer as he listened to Teresa, Brenda, Sonya, Harriet, Gally, Aris and Frypan shout pleas to the blonde male who was too lost to listen. He smiles, even though he’s sad.

There were the remaining members of his gang at the butt of the ambulance and he could see Sonya ready to follow the counting deaths of her friends. The drunk boy just rolled his eyes to force his tears back in.

[...]

This time he really couldn’t do anything.

 _How the fuck was he going to stop Teresa from jumping if she was literally forty feet away? She wouldn’t be able to hear his goddamn shouts anyway._ Minho closed his eyes in pure hopelessness as he heard pedestrians scream, mentally picturing Teresa’s splattered body on the road.

It was just him, Sonya, Harriet, Gally, Frypan, and Aris left.

Brenda? Oh, she disappeared last week and showed up on the news in a fatal car crash. Jorge had retrieved her body from the morgue to cremate it. Soon enough, the penthouse that everyone had once happily lived in was full of yellow caution tape; outside and inside. Numerous funerals – exactly five, they had already done Thomas’s – took place at the same church. Minho’s been coming so often that he’s already memorised every crook of the church with the back of his hand. Impressive right?

[...]

Newt’s sister and mother finished their speech of Newt and his wonderfulness and how he will be badly missed, Minho soon being called up to the podium. His eyes were awfully red and swollen from crying over the too-many deaths of his fellow best friends who he has spent the most wonderful years with. When he stood in front of the microphone, his head went blank. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to say the same things he said during the previous funeral speeches.

Everyone continued to stare at him, patiently waiting for the words to come out. So he breathed into the mic, and smiled. 

“I present to you,” He shook himself and opened his arms as if to invite Thomas's and his friends' restless wandering spirits into his embrace. He smiled wider.

“Another death of a bachelor.”

[...]

Thomas jumps in his bed when he wakes up to Newt staring upfront at his face. The blonde just grins excitedly and gestures to everyone behind him. Minho, Alby, Ben, Chuck, Winston, Frypan, Teresa, Brenda, Aris, Harriet, and Sonya waved to him all at once. Thomas smiled shyly.

“Day one, Greenie. Rise and shine.”

This seems fitting for a happily ever after. Thomas had showed them all that he was no ordinary type.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked that klunk. Please don't kill me- _**oof**_.
> 
> At least comment your anger and rage-click the kudos button? _**double oof**_.


End file.
